


The Kilt Collection

by solrosan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Civil Unions, Drag Queens, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, First Dates, Found Family, Harry Hart in a dress, Harry In A Kilt, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kilts, M/M, Male Friendship, Marriage Proposal, Merlin in a kilt, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: A collection of stories exploring the fact that Merlin, from time to time, wears kilts and through this looking at Merlin and Harry's relationship.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin
Comments: 163
Kudos: 65





	1. 1989

**Author's Note:**

> My entire life is Merlin in kilts at the moment and I have no regrets. Sadly, no kilt is worn in this first one, but stay tune, it will happen!

Merlin lifts the kilt pin from the box, a smile slowly breaking through. He moves his thumb over it, examining it. It’s shaped like a needle, with a thistle and a rose weaving their way up it. At the top, where you sometimes find a clan crest, is a butterfly and a gemstone. 

“Sassenach…”

Harry smiles. Merlin only ever calls him that when he thinks he’s being adorable in his clumsy attempts to approach highlander culture (or when he’s being an imperialistic arse, but it’s easy to tell which one it is going by the tone of voice). 

“I thought this way you could bring a part of me with you to your sister’s wedding,” says Harry. “You don’t have to use it. I know it’s not as… butch as your other ones.”

“No, it’s lovely. I love it, thank you.” Merlin leans over to kiss Harry on the cheek. “Where did you find it?”

“I had it made.”

Merlin looks surprised at him. “You had it made?”

“Yes.” Harry starts to point out the details. “It’s a needle for Kingsman with the English rose and the Scottish thistle around it. The pattern around the butterfly is Arthurian heraldry, and the butterfly is supposed to be an _Aglais io_ , that’s a Peacock.” He stops to look up and wink at Merlin who just grins. “Then the stone is because you’re always keeping a watching eye on me.”

Merlin is quiet for a moment, then he says, “You almost make this sound like a proposal.”

Harry smiles, a bit taken aback. That had not been his intention _at all_. It’s just supposed to be a fun thing, a cute thing. A thing to make Merlin really understand that Harry isn’t upset that Merlin can’t bring him to this wedding, but that he understands why Merlin has to go. Now, however, when he looks at Merlin, his excited smile and gleaming eyes, the gentle way he holds the butterfly pin with large hands, and the idea of proposing isn’t as crazy as it should be.

“It can be, if you want to,” he says.

They look at each other for a long time, Merlin’s smile grows and he takes Harry’s hand. “I do.”

“Shit…”

“Aye.”

“Shit.”

Merlin kisses him. “No take backs.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry murmurs and kisses him again.

* * *

“Are you okay?” asks Merlin as the waiter leaves with their orders. “You’re very quiet tonight.”

Harry blinks. Is he this bad at his job or does Merlin just know him that well? 

“I’m nervous,” Harry admits.

Merlin laughs. “Why?”

Harry takes a deep breath, he hasn’t planned to do this this early, but since he’s apparently failed to keep a straight face… 

It’s a week after Merlin got back from Scotland so Harry has had all of nine days to think this through. He reaches into his inner pocket and pulls out a red velvet box. On the other side of the table, Merlin’s face lights up with a huge smile and he shakes his head.

“Harry...”

Harry opens the box, revealing a smooth gold ring, and puts it down on the table. “Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Yes.” Merlin shakes his head again, still smiling. “You already knew that, why were you nervous?”

“Comes with the territory, I suppose,” says Harry and takes the ring out of the box. Merlin dutifully holds up his hand so Harry can put it on. He then takes Harry’s hand and kisses it.

“Did you get one for yourself as well?” Merlin asks. 

“Yes.”

“Do you have it here?”

From the same pocket, Harry retrieves another ring. Merlin takes it from him and puts it on his finger. 

“I love you. So much.”

Harry smiles. “I love you too.”


	2. 1989

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets to see Merlin put on a great kilt when they are in Scotland to meet Merlin's friends.

Harry has seen Merlin in a kilt a lot. Most of the times have been in pictures, granted, but still, more than he can count. He has even seen him in a Great kilt a handful of times. He hasn’t, however, seen him put one on.

Until now.

Merlin’s on the floor, on all fours, on a huge piece of fabric, wearing only a pair of shorts. Harry recognises the pattern -- tartan, tartan, tartan -- as his mother’s but decides to not focus on that particular detail. Merlin sits back on his heels, looking somewhere between bothered and busted when Harry comes into the room. 

They are staying with Merlin’s older brother in Fort William. It’s the third time Harry is in Scotland, the first time in Merlin’s hometown. Being here is, perhaps not weird, but taxing. For starters there’s Merlin’s family -- even though his siblings are beginning to come around to the idea of Merlin living with a man -- but then there are all small things that differ in so many ways from what Harry’s used to and the fact that he feels like an outsider as soon as he opens his mouth… it’s exhausting. He wonders if this is how Merlin feels all the time in London.

“Everything okay? Do you need something?” Merlin asks, reaching for Harry’s hand.

Harry takes his hand with a smile. “No, I just… No, everything’s okay.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me,” says Merlin, squeezing his hand before going back to folding the fabric. It goes quickly, if a bit hesitantly. Clearly, a long-since practised skill. 

Harry sits down on the bed and watches, fascinated. When Merlin’s done, he sits back on his heels and holds out his hand again, this time to point at the belt on the bed next to Harry.

“Can you hand me the… Thank you.”

He drags the belt underneath the massive amount of fabric before he stands up and looks at Harry. 

Harry frowns, amused. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I’m… not sure. Something.”

“Well, I’ve figured out the real mystery of the kilt years ago, so I don’t know what else there is to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would it make you feel better if I made a skirt joke?”

“Heh…”

“Do I need to change?” Harry asks instead.

“No, you’re fine. It’s just a thing. We, well, drink beer and wear kilts, it’s what we do, so… We don’t impose it on others. Only the beer.”

“How manly of you,” says Harry, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. They are going to meet Merlin’s rugby mates from school tonight. Two, three times each year ‘the unruly clan’, as Merlin calls them, meet for a weekend, but this is the first time Merlin’s asked Harry to come with him. To say that Harry’s nervous at the prospect of finally meeting all of Merlin’s childhood friends is an understatement. 

“You think it’s strange,” says Merlin, somewhat embarrassed. 

“I’m in no position to judge what anyone does with their mates from school.”

“True,” says Merlin, laughing. Harry meets his Eton friends at least once a year to fence with plastic lightsabres and he and his friends from Cambridge have a standing Eurovision Song Contest party in May every year. And then, of course, is the ‘fox hunt’ that Merlin still hasn’t been invited to because they both have agreed that he doesn’t want to come near it.

“The shirt,” Merlin says, pointing again at the bed next to Harry. 

Harry takes it and throws it at him. “I feel like the worst valet in the world.”

“It’s for your other services in the bedroom I keep you around, Mr Hart.”

Merlin pulls the white linen shirt over his head. It falls loosely down to half his thighs. Then, without any thought of the matter, Merlin takes off his shorts and pants and throws them on the bed. Harry can’t help giggling.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” says Harry. “It’s just… well you know…”

“Mhm.” Merlin leans down to give Harry a quick kiss. “Prudish sassenach.”

“I’m not prudish! But you’re dressed like Donald Bloody Duck!”

Merlin makes a face. “That’s the least sexy thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Chester’s come-rag.”

“You don’t want to have sex ever again, do you?” says Merlin as he sits down on the folded fabric. 

Harry laughs. He leans back a little to get a peek under the shirt as Merlin lies down on his back. With a few quick movements, Merlin has covered himself up completely and fastens the belt around his waist. He gets up and folds in the fabric in the front, tucking it in the belt behind him. 

“You can fit a six-pack in this,” says Merlin, flapping what has magically become a pocket and walks over to his bag. He roams around in it for a bit before finding a very worn sporran and the kilt pin Harry gave him at their impromptu engagement. He puts on the sporran and fastens the butterfly pin at the inside of one of the pockets. Harry is touched, because he’s fairly sure there shouldn’t be a pin on this ensemble. 

Merlin brushes off some dust from the floor, looking down at himself, turning to see how the folds look and shrugs in a that-will-do kind of way. Harry watches, absolutely amazed and strangely moved by the sight. 

“Come, let’s fill this one with beer!” says Merlin happily, ruining whatever illusions or fantasies Harry had of proud traditions and broody, dirty highlander rebels and replacing them with the feelings of friendship, community and happiness that live in this garment for Merlin. 

And it’s an image he much rather have to be honest.

* * *

Merlin bumps Harry’s shoulder with his own as they walk through Fort William on the warm summer night. “Ye’re not listening, are ye?”

“Only because I don’t understand half the sounds coming out of your mouth.”

“Sassenach...” says Merlin, grinning from ear to ear. His accent is so thick after an evening with his mates -- and their families -- that Harry honestly has trouble understanding him at times. Or maybe it’s just the beer. Either way, the beer doesn’t help.

“So you know,” says Harry to change the subject, “I got three ‘if you hurt him, we’ll kill you’-speeches tonight.”

Merlin giggles. “I’d like to see them try.”

“They won’t have to, I won’t hurt you.”

“I’d like to see them try anyway,” Merlin says. “Who said it?”

“Alex, Garrett, and Ned.”

“Hm. Ned might actually be able to take ye.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “I’m a highly trained spy, he’s a math teacher.”

Merlin laughs. Harry can’t remember ever seeing Merlin this happy, but more importantly is that after tonight he knows Merlin has people who accept him for who he is and loves him unconditionally. Honestly, nothing could have made Harry happier than being threatened for the sake of tradition by intoxicated suburban highlanders. Because they care. About Merlin. And they want Harry to know that they do and that they will be around.

Merlin has a family, a real one, with miss-matched tartans, weird drinking games, and weirder inside jokes, who have each other’s backs. It’s a relief after having only met his parents and siblings before.

Merlin takes his hand and Harry’s heart skips a beat. He’s been trying very hard to let Merlin set the level of their public display of affection since they arrived in Scotland but he misses it. Especially tonight with all the girlfriends and wives there, casually just… touching their partners.

So now when Merlin starts, he can’t help asking. “Can I kiss you?”

Merlin slows down, but doesn’t stop. “What?”

“I want to kiss you,” says Harry, as if it’s something he needs to explain. “Can I?”

Merlin does a quick scan of the street. It hurts like a knife to the gut -- Harry knows, he’s tried the real thing -- because Merlin doesn’t do that in London, but before the feeling has subsided, Merlin puts his hand behind Harry’s neck and kisses him. Fiercely. 

Harry’s world is spinning by the end of it. 

And that’s not just the beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! If you want to get a visual on how to put on a kilt like this I can point you [here](https://youtu.be/R71wNqcRn7k?t=87), [here](https://youtu.be/vEmES4-7kvc), and [here](https://youtu.be/YqH-UOBwvmw).
> 
> If you want to, you can find me on Tumblr at [solrosan](https://solrosan.tumblr.com/) or at my Kingsman blog [agentsandbutterflies](https://agentsandbutterflies.tumblr.com/). I'm also on discord as solrosan.


	3. 2006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally realises that he's not immortal and as a result, he feels he has to ask Merlin something again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a long time jump here and it will continue to go back and forth as the ideas come to me, but keep an eye at the year in the title and it will all be fine. I hope.
> 
> Shout out and many thanks to Red and Elle who listen to me go on about this verse and fuels the muse whenever it's stuck.

Harry is finally on his feet again after weeks of bed rest following a not-entirely-successful mission and minor surgical complications. He’s in for quite a lot of rehab, both for the right shoulder where he took the bullet and for the loss of muscle mass due to not being allowed up for anything more exciting than a shower for ages.

He makes his way down to Merlin’s office, wearing slippers and a dressing robe over his pyjamas. He won’t be discharged for another day or two, but having been on his back for a long time with nothing but time to think has made a thing or two very clear to him.

”Do I need to call security?” Merlin asks, looking up from his personnel roster when Harry enters, the sternness in his voice cancelled out by the smile in his eyes.

”Marry me.”

Merlin’s smile spreads to his lips. ”Morgan gave you the good drugs, has he?”

”I’m serious,” says Harry again. ”I want to stand in front of our family and friends and tell the world I love you and that it’s okay that I do.”

It’s not even half a year since civil unions became legal and though it hasn’t passed them by, they haven’t really discussed it either. It’s them, it’s always been them, and they have rings in a sock drawer to prove it! There hasn’t been any rush. Except one of them is being shot at at work on a semi-regular basis and these last weeks it has finally become clear to Harry that he isn’t as bullet proof as the suits he wears.

”Harry…”

”Marry me.” The words are so heavy that Harry doesn’t think he’ll be able to get them out a third time. ”Please.”

”Of course,” Merlin says as he gets up from the table and walks over to Harry. He gently pulls him into a hug and murmurs, “Of course I’ll marry you. Would have done it twenty years ago if they’d let me.”

Harry leans into the embrace, because he’s missed this so much while in hospital. And it doesn’t matter that he knows Merlin is with him for life or that they are basically already married, it’s a relief to hear Merlin accept putting it formally on paper.

“You couldn’t let me do the asking one of these times, could you?” asks Merlin. 

Harry smiles. “Not a chance.”

* * *

The sun is setting over the roofs. The summer isn’t quite here yet and as soon as the sun disappears it’s going to get chilly. Merlin does nothing to move from the balcony where he sits, swirling a whisky in his glass rather than drinking it. 

Though it’s his third glass, so it’s just as well.

“We can cancel,” says Harry, suddenly standing in the door. “Say we changed our minds, take... I don’t know, Tristan and Percival down to city hall and just sign the thing.”

Merlin shakes his head. “No.”

“You sure?”

“No.” Merlin gives him a tired, only half-sincere smile. Harry looks like a kicked puppy and Merlin knows he just wants to fix this even though it’s not his to fix. Deep down Merlin wonders if he’s more disappointed by the fact that his parents aren’t coming to the wedding or by the fact that he actually let himself hope they would. Either way, not having the wedding isn’t the solution.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to be happy,” says Harry without hesitation.

Merlin snorts. “That’s disgusting and you know it. Try again.”

Harry finally joins him on the balcony and sits down in the other deck chair. He reaches out and takes the glass from Merlin. So very clearly stalling as he takes a sip. 

“I want… I want the government to know how important you are to me,” he says with such sincerity that Merlin is dumbstruck, because that wasn’t what he had expected. “I know it sounds like something out of _1984_ , but I do. I want to be absolutely sure our papers are in order. If I end up in a civilian hospital I want you to be my legal next-of-kin. Then I want a fucking apology from them.”

“I think you’re all out of luck for that last part.”

Harry smiles. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want it. Doesn’t mean we don’t deserve it. But we don’t need a wedding for any of that.”

“What about all that ‘in front of friends and family’ shit you talked about?”

“Sounded good, didn’t it?”

Merlin raises his eyebrows and tries to take back his whisky, but Harry holds it out of reach.

“I want that too,” Harry admits when Merlin settles back down again. “I want to celebrate what we have with our families and our friends. And I thought, that maybe, if we did it properly your--”

“My parents would forget that you have a dick and I like to suck it?”

“That they would come and see how happy we are.”

Merlin smiles. For someone who has been a spy for over twenty years, Harry can be really naive. He holds out his hand and Harry gives him the glass. Merlin takes it, but starts laughing.

“I wanted your hand, idiot,” he says. 

“Hard to tell sometimes,” says Harry with a smile, but takes Merlin’s hand.

Merlin squeezes it. “You won’t win them over, but they won’t ruin this for us, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, though, for the option.”

“I really do want you to be happy.”

“And I am.”

“Me too.”

The sun has disappeared by now, but instead of going in, Harry fetches a glass whisky for himself and blankets for both of them. It is almost summer, after all.

* * *

Merlin sits at the kitchen table, looking worse than gum stuck under a shoe, slowly eating a well-buttered toast. Yesterday, the Unruly Clan had descended upon them to give Merlin what seems to have been a pretty spectacular stag do. Harry had slept at the manor, because Merlin’s friends had wanted the house and Harry was more than happy to oblige. Now he’s back though, because they do have reservations in two hours with the clan before they all leave London again.

Harry puts down a new glass of water next to Merlin and sits down with tea and a toast of his own.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Better than I deserve, I think,” Merlin mutters, but he smiles when he meets Harry’s eyes. “Don’t worry, we didn’t touch your gin.”

“I know, I’ve checked,” says Harry, blowing on his tea. “Speaking of the sitting room... why the Hell are there 14 kilts on the floor?”

“You’ll see at the reception. There’s video.”

“My mother’s going to be there, please tell me it’s decent.”

Merlin frowns. “Talk to Ned.”

“Oh, trust me. Care to give me a hint?”

“They… have decided that I can’t get married in the Wallace tartan,” says Merlin. “So they brought some options and we… we tried to find another one.”

“And did you?”

Merlin nods.

“Which one?”

“You’ll see.”

“It’s not a bloody wedding dress.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Harry rolls his eyes. For all the explanations that have crossed his mind as of why their sitting room looks like a gay, Scottish strip club after the final performance, this isn’t one of them, but it warms his heart that Merlin’s friend had done that.

“At least send a square over to Andrew so he can match my cravat with it,” he says. “And pick up the kilts before we leave.”

“Yes, dear,” says Merlin. “Have to give them back to them anyway.”

He gets up, grunting as he does and looking just a little bit miserable. He leans down to give Harry a kiss, but Harry turns away.

“You reek.”

“It was a really good night.”

Harry smiles and gives him that kiss. For once, he expects to not be the one being late. 

In the end, it turns out that they are the first ones there, but then, Merlin’s mates stayed at a hotel with no sober person in sight to drag them from there. Harry is about to comment on that when he notices that there are, in fact, people at the table the waiter pointed out to them. 

But they aren’t Merlin’s friends… they are… his?

“What…?” Harry starts as the Star Wars intro starts to play on a portable CD-player and Harry wants to die a little when Marcus stands up, speaking into a pink microphone connected to an equally pink speaker that has to belong to his seven-year-old.

“A long time ago, in a place not very far away… Our young hero leaves home to start his training to become a proper gentleman and mediocre member of society. The training is hard, but along the way he meets other brave, young men ready to use all the power of a stiff upper lip to change society at its core. 

“Once his basic training is complete, our hero moves on to seek wisdom in a mystical place known for its nude poetry readings and heavy drinking. Neither the poetry or the alcohol can stand in the way of our hero’s sense of duty and he abandons the bugs to serve Queen and country...”

Harry, completely stunned, turns to Merlin and whispers, “Did you know about this?”

“It might have come out yesterday that the end of my stag would be the beginning of yours.”

“...but during a time of horrible haircuts and even worse fashion choices our hero decides to leave the army to fight the battles closest to his heart -- the battle against tackiness and terrible shoulder pads.

“It is during this noble quest that our hero meets his trusted companion. A man with a good heart, a sharp mind, and a patience of gold. Our hero and his companion go on many quests together and endure a lot of hardship, but they also share happiness, joy, love, and things not mentioned over brunch and now they are finally about to officially start the adventure they have been on for years!”

There is plenty of cheering when Marcus is done, just in time for the music to end. Harry can’t stop smiling and from the duffel Merlin’s been carrying -- in which Harry’s sure the kilts are -- Merlin pulls out Harry’s Jedi robe.

“Live long and prosper, darling.”

It never fails to annoy Harry when Merlin says that -- because it’s wrong and he knows it! -- but today he just laughs and takes the robe. 

“I hate all of you,” he declares, but starts to take off his jacket to don the robe instead to more cheering. 

“Look, here comes the Empire!” Linus yells, as a group of very tired Scots emerge from… probably hiding in the loo. 

“Oy, we’ve talked about this!” Alex yells back. “Who are really the rebel forces and who had an empire you colonizing redcoat fucker?”

Harry is still completely confused as to what is going on, but here he stands, wearing a very old and worn Jedi robe, at _brunch_ , seeing his best friends and Merlin’s best friends laughing and poking fun at each other as if they have known each other for years. It actually takes him a moment to realise that Tristan, Percival and Lancelot also are there. It’s beyond him how their friends have managed to get in contact with them.

He turns to Merlin, who just stands there smiling. Harry cups his cheek and gives him a kiss to the sound of nineteen cheering, middle aged men.

* * *

Merlin stands by the door. He’s dressed, he’s ready, and for all he knows so is Harry but for some reason, his husband-to-be is still upstairs. For the third time he takes out his pocket watch. They should really get going.

“Harry?” 

There is no reply this time either. He sighs and puts away the watch. “Galahad, I swear to God…”

He finally hears Harry come down the stairs.

“Is it really necessary to use your Merlin-voice on our wedd--” Harry cuts himself off, the annoyed frown is smoothened out and instead he smiles as he sees Merlin. 

Merlin smiles back at him. “Apparently. What on Earth kept you?”

“You look... amazing.”

“So do you.”

Harry really does, from the well-polished shoes to the cravat in the almost exact same shade of blue as in the kilt Merlin’s wearing. Andrew had done a damn good job on the morning dress, so much so Merlin almost regrets not taking him up on the offer to make him a new jacket. Going by the way Harry looks at him, though, he probably looks decent enough.

He wears his Black Watch kilt and the butterfly kilt pin Harry had given him years ago, with a black waistcoat and jacket with silver buttons. It had been an easy choice to pick that kilt. Fashion shows in all their glory, but he’s comfortable in this tartan, no matter if he wears it as part of a uniform or, as to day, as a civilian. It also got him out of having to pick one of his mates over the others.

“Do we have everything?” asks Harry as he takes the last steps. “ID’s, wallets…?”

“I have _mine_ ,” Merlin says patting his calfskin sporran. Then he points to the dresser. “Yours is over there. Where you put them last night so you wouldn’t forget them.”

“What would I do without you?” Harry steals a kiss before picking up his things, and puts them in appropriate pockets. “We really should have found a way to incorporate the sporran in our formal wear. Here.”

Harry works his ring off his finger and hands it to Merlin. Merlin takes it and puts it in the sporran before he takes off his own and gives it to Harry. They had decided early on to not buy new rings, just add the date in their old ones, since neither of them wears them frequently anyway.

“Ready?” Harry asks.

“Aye. You’re the one who’s late.”

Harry rolls his eyes and kisses him.

“No more until we’re done,” says Merlin. 

“Agreed,” says Harry and kisses him again. 

Merlin laughs. “You’re impossible.”

“Yes.”

Just for that, Merlin gives him another kiss with one hand on the door handle. Harry smiles against his lips when he hears him open the door.

“Now go,” Merlin whispers, “or we’ll be late for real.”

Harry does as he’s told. Finally. Merlin locks up, wondering if the reason heterosexual couples aren’t allowed to see each other before the wedding is to make sure they are on time.

* * *

Harry’s hand is steady when he signs his name on the civil partnership schedule before handing over the pen to Merlin who sits next to him. He thanks his many years in the field for that, because he’s having a hard time keeping the promise he made to himself this morning about not crying.

He holds his breath as Merlin signs his name next to his and just like that it’s done. It’s been them for decades and it would be for years to come with or without this piece of paper, but now it’s real on the same level as his brothers and their wives. Harry had known this was important to him, but clearly not how much. 

The pen is passed on to their official witnesses -- Merlin’s brother and Harry’s oldest brother -- and Harry watches them sign their names as well, but it’s secondary. As are the vows and rings they have exchanged in front of their friends and family before this. Important, but secondary.

“Congratulations, gentlemen,” says the registrar, smiling at them, when the last name is put on the schedule. “It’s official.”

That breaks Harry and tears start rolling down his cheek. “Sorry,” he mumbles, trying to stop them with his hand and a deep breath. He’s a 46 year old man who kills people for a living, he shouldn’t be this emotional over a piece of paper.

From his sporran, Merlin retrieves a handkerchief and gives it to Harry with a smile. Harry smiles back as he dries his cheeks. Merlin takes his hand and squeezes it hard. 

“It’s official,” he says.

Harry nods, his smile almost splitting his face. “It’s official.”

The rest of it is just backdrop.


	4. 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How they ended up on their first (and second) date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a jump back in time! No kilts are actively worn here, but they are important.
> 
> Merlin isn't Merlin yet here, that's why I keep using Hamish in the narration as well.

”Is that you and your mates?” Harry points at the photograph of eight very dirty young men, wearing nothing but kilts and screaming at the camera.

”Hm?” Hamish looks up at the picture he has pinned to the inside of his cubicle with a straightened out paper clip. ”Aye.”

”What’s the occasion?”

”Alex’s girlfriend had got a camera for her birthday,” he says, pointing out Alexander in the photo.

Harry grins. ”Fair enough.”

Hamish’s cheeks heat and he hopes it doesn’t show. The female handlers keep joking about how the first rule is to never fall for an agent, but… that smile. It doesn’t help that he knows Harry swings his way either.

”Did you need something?” Hamish asks.

”No.” Harry nods at the tea he’s brought him. ”Just say thanks for the hospital fire.”

”Your life is worth the price of a cup of tea to you?”

”It’s good tea.”

”It’s shit tea.”

Harry smiles again. Hamish swears he can see a faint blush creeping over Harry’s neck, so he smiles and looks away.

”How about a shit beer instead?”

Hamish’s head snaps back up. “You mean tonight?”

”Sure, I’m still on R&R. When does your shift end?”

”Well, both you and Bors are here, so I can clock out now.”

”Really? Oh?” Harry blinks. ”Then give me 30 minutes, I need to talk to Merlin.”

”Meet you in the shop?”

”Yes, sure.”

”Right. Thanks for the tea.”

Harry smiles again. That goddamn smile. Hamish smiles as well as Harry leaves. This is going to end in heartbreak, he knows it, but fuck, the road there can be fun.

He signs off and goes to change his shirt, trying hard to not get his hopes up.

* * *

Hamish picks the place, a small, queer pub on Rupert Street that he likes. Harry doesn’t comment on it, but he smiles as he holds the door for him and Hamish hopes that the point he’s trying to make will come across without him having to actually… say anything.

"First one’s on me, then?” Harry says as he hangs his jacket on the back of a chair, heading for the bar before Hamish gets the chance to reply. 

Hamish watches him walk away, trying to figure out if this is a date or not -- or if he even wants it to be one. He knows very well how smooth Harry is when Merlin sends him on honeypots, so he won’t take anything at face value. 

Damn all agents!

Harry puts down two glasses on the small table. "Two shit beers.”

"Charming.”

"It’s what was on the invite.”

Hamish smiles and raises the glass. "Cheers, then.”

Harry nods, smiling as well, and Hamish tries to drown the butterflies in his stomach with the beer. At least that answers to whether he wants it to be a date or not.

Damn.

The conversation flows easily, mostly office gossip with a dash of music. On the third round, Harry asks, "Do you wear kilts often?” 

Hamish almost chokes on his beer. 

"Yes, I actually am _that_ Scottish,” he says as he puts the glass down. "But before you ask, I don’t play the bagpipe.”

"I meant no offence,” Harry is quick to say. "I genuinely didn’t think people our age wore them.”

"None taken.” 

It’s a lie, though he can’t put the finger on why the question left a sour taste in his mouth. Hamish is waiting for the question about what’s under the kilt, but it doesn’t come and instead an awkward silence stretches between them. 

"I dress up as a Jedi on a regular basis,” Harry suddenly blurts out. "I’m not comparing the two. I know it’s not dressing up. I just—”

Hamish takes his hand to stop him talking before he digs himself a hole he can’t dig himself out of. It shuts Harry right up and they both look at their hands. Time stops. Hamish forgets how to breathe. 

Then Harry turns his hand and just like that, they are holding hands. Hamish smiles even though his brain screams at him that this is a terrible, terrible idea. At least Harry had picked up on why he’d chosen this place.

"So… Star Wars?” he asks.

"Mm, yes, me and my mates from Eton watched the first movie in the cinema and...”

"...and you all wanted to be Han Solo?”

"My mates, yes. I wanted to kiss him.”

Hamish laughs. "I still do.”

"Have you seen The Mosquito Coast?”

"No, is it any good?”

"I don’t know, but it’s Harrison Ford so how bad can it be?”

Hamish smiles, daring to squeeze Harry’s hand a little, earning him a grin and a wink. No matter if this was a date when it started, it’s clear that they now have planned their second one.

This is the start of trouble, Hamish can feel it in his bones, but he doesn’t care.


	5. 1990

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a drunken phone call from some very excited Scots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short one that was supposed to be the beginning of the next one but when it came down to it, I didn't think the parts worked together. The other part will be posted during the weekend, promise!
> 
> No kilts are worn in this one, but I promise it's a good build up for what to come...

The morning after Merlin comes home from Scotland, Harry drags him to the answering machine after breakfast. Harry’s grinning from ear to ear and presses play. Merlin grimaces when he hears one of his mates’ voices.

_“HARRY! Harry! This is Alex… ander!”_

_“And Johan!”_

_“And Johan. This is Alex and Johan. Listen. Harry. Harry. Why aren’t ye home?”_

_“Why aren’t ye_ here _?”_

_“That! What Johan said! Also, also, also… why aren’t ye home? Ye’re not stepping out on our boy, are ye? Ye know the clan will come for ye if ye do!”_

_“THE CLAN!”_

_“Fuck, Johan, ye cannae fucking yell that. Ye sound like the bleeding KKK! Harry. Dinnae listen to Johan.”_

_“Hey!”_

_“Listen to me. Harry. We have yer man here. Well not right now. He’s smoking with Dickie and--”_

_“SSSHHHHH!! You cannae say that! It’s a secret!”_

_“Right, right, right, right. He’s NOT smoking. He’s… over there. Anyway. Listen. Harry. Hamish wants to see ye in a kilt.”_

_“And do other things to ye in a kilt! He’s soooo hot for ye in a kilt!”_

_“Heart eyes drooling, Harry. HEART EYES DROOLING!”_

_“Cannae shut up about it!”_

_“Harry. Come on! Make this happen! MAN UP!”_

_“What’s stopping ye?”_

_“WHAT’S STOPPING YE? Call us! We’ll find ye one! Come on!”_

_“Shit! He’s coming! Hang up!”_

The call ends. Harry looks up at Merlin who stands there, red in the face. 

“Is it true?” Harry asks, amused. 

“I’m going to kill them,” Merlin says, staring at the machine. “I’m sending Bors after them first thing tomorrow.”

Harry giggles. “No, don’t. Take Tristan, he’s more discreet.”

“I don’t want ‘discreet’.”

“Come on.” Harry steps up in front of him and wraps his arms around his waist. “It’s sweet of them.”

“I’m going to kill them.”

“Is it true?”

“I wasn’t smoking.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, he doesn’t believe that for a second, but decides not to let Merlin derail this conversation.

Merlin is highly uncomfortable, but he finally gives in. Looking down, rather than at Harry he mumbles, “Aye. Maybe.”

“Well, then!”

“You don’t have to do it. It’s… silly.”

“Why?” 

“Because it is.”

Harry stands silently waiting until Merlin looks up to meet his eyes.

“It’s not silly,” he says. “I want to.”

Merlin frowns. “Really?”

Harry laughs. “God, yes, really! I’ve had to stop my mate from making similar calls asking you to let me do it when we’ve been out.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything?”

“I’ve thought you’d think that I’d be rude if I asked.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bloody English, that’s why.”

“Sassenach…” Merlin kisses him. “We must get better at talking to each other, don’t we?”


	6. 1990

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally puts on a kilt!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promise kept! 
> 
> Kilts are definitely worn in this one. So many kilts, really. Just two (or one?) that matter though.

Harry has been very clear that he, under no circumstances, is going to wear a kilt as part of some bedroom role play (no matter what Merlin’s friends implied that Merlin wants to do with him while he wears the kilt). Merlin finds the respect Harry shows the kilt rather sweet. He also finds it frustrating and somewhat tedious, because it’s an item of clothing. Nothing more, nothing less.

That being said, Merlin’s still very close to hitting Harry in the head with a pillow, when he’s trying on a kilt for Alex and Sophie’s wedding and his first comment is that it feels a bit like doing drag.

”Well, that completely ruins it,” says Merlin, laughing, as he hangs the sporran around Harry’s waist. 

”I’m sorry, it’s just--”

”No, it’s fine.” Merlin peeks over his shoulder to meet his eyes through the mirror. ”I’ve always wanted to see you in drag, too.”

”Really?”

”The photos Joseph has shown me leave a lot to the imagination.”

Harry grins. ”Next Eurovision, then.”

”Deal. Now turn around.”

Merlin takes a step back and Harry does as he’s told. He still hasn’t put the jacket on, but he has the shirt, the tie, the waistcoat, the hoses, the flashes, the sporran… and the Wallace tartan kilt. It’s a strange sight, but Merlin feels a surge in his stomach as he allows himself to really take all in.

Harry in a kilt. Harry in the same tartan as his father and uncles and brother and… him. 

”I’m taking your silence as approval,” says Harry with a cheeky grin.

”Aye… You’re quite a few fantasies wrapped up in one right now.”

Harry laughs and pulls him close to give him a kiss.

”Thank you for letting me do this,” Harry murmurs. 

”Letting you?” Merlin chuckles. ”Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

”Aye.”

”You’re Scottish is terrible, so don’t even try, sassenach.”

”Seriously, though, is it alright?”

”You’re the most handsome man in every room you enter, no matter what you wear,” says Merlin. ”Relax.”

”Ta, but that’s not--”

”Relax. No one will find it weird.”

”I find it a little weird.”

”You sometimes dress up as a Jedi.”

”I have never claimed that’s not weird. I think.”

”Pretty sure you have.”

”Fine.”

Merlin puts his hands on Harry’s hips, moving them down slightly to feel the fabric. He can’t believe Harry’s wearing a kilt and he can’t believe what he’s about to say. Or he can, because it’s the right thing to say, but he’s dreamt of a man in a kilt since before he knew there was such a thing as homosexuality.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”

“I know, but I want to,” says Harry, smiling. “Really.”

“No one will think you’re an imposter or whatever you’re afraid of. You’ll be there as my family.”

Harry’s smile softens in a way that makes Merlin want to roll his eyes over his sentimental romantic streak. He doesn’t, though. He also stops himself from saying that if anyone’s going to be offended by anything, it’s going to be because of the gay thing, not the kilt thing.

He doesn’t say it because Harry’s smile is infectious and the thought of bringing Harry to a wedding in Fort William -- in a kilt! -- is wild.

“Are you _sure_ I can’t take this off you right now?” Merlin murmurs against his lips, tugging the kilt.

Harry laughs softly and steals a kiss. “Oh, I think you can convince me…”

* * *

The big day is warm, but cloudy -- and to Harry’s horror, windy. Harry drives because Merlin is on his mobile with Morgan. Or he tries to be, the reception in the Highlands is almost non-existing. It doesn’t help that Harry’s decided that they are going to be on time for once and refuses to stop at every phone box on the way. 

About a month ago they had lost Gawain and Merlin’s in the middle of training the new recruits. In other words, it’s a terrible time to skip off to Fort William for a wedding. Harry’s been trying to tell Merlin that it’s only for three days and if the spoiled brats currently living in the Kingsman dormitory can’t go a weekend without killing each other, then they weren’t Kingsman material to start with. It has fallen on deaf ears.

When they get to the church, Harry parks their rental car and through some miracle, Merlin stops trying to reach Morgan and puts away the phone in the glove compartment with a sigh.

“Give me your pager,” says Harry, as Merlin reaches for the door. Merlin frowns, but Harry holds out his hand. “Seriously, give it to me. We’re here, we made the decision to come because it’s Alex’s wedding. You’re not spending the entire day running around to find a spot where your mobile works or contemplating having confidential conversations from the landline in the foyer.” 

Merlin doesn’t move a muscle. 

Harry sighs. “I promise I’ll let you know if anything happens that can’t wait until Monday.”

Reluctantly, Merlin hands him the pager. Harry makes a point of turning off the sound and putting it in his sporran. When he shuts it, he wonders if Merlin’s eyes lingers on his lap or if he’s itching for the pager already.

Luckily, almost as soon as they step out of the car, they spot four members of the Unruly Clan and their wives/girlfriends who happily wave at them. Merlin brightens up the way he only does around his childhood friends. They hug and greet each other, and Harry pretends to not notice that everyone is giving him an indiscreet look-over.

"Looking very smart, English,” says Johan, going in for the one-armed-hug when it’s his turn. He whispers in his ear. "Ye’re _so_ getting laid tonight.”

Harry sympathizes strongly with Merlin’s bemoaning of how he wants to kill Johan from time to time.

"I’m spoken for,” he says with a smile and a wink.

Johan laughs. ”A bloke can dream.”

"For fuck’s sake, Johan,” says Garrett with a deep sigh. "Leave him alone. Ye do look really good though, Hart. How does it feel?”

“Heh, thanks. It, um…” Harry hesitates, not sure how honest he should be but decides to not tell them the same thing he told Merlin. “It feels like play-pretend, as if I’m an undercover agent or something.”

Merlin hides his laugh in a chough.

The others protest, quite loudly, and Harry isn’t sure which part they are protesting until Ned says, “Ye’re not playing dress-up, ye’re family.”

Harry is taken aback by that, and how the others nod in agreement. Next to him, he sees Merlin grin and he’s surprised to feel him slip his hand into his.

“I told you it’s not weird,” says Merlin, as they start to move in the direction of the church. “You’re family.”

* * *

"Now ye’re welcome to join the happy couple on the dance floor.”

A lot of chairs scrape against the floor as couple after couple get up to accept the DJ’s invitation. Merlin leans back in the not completely uncomfortable chair and watches Alex and Sophie dance, unable to keep the smile off his face. He’s known both of them for more than half his life, but he can’t remember them ever looking this happy. 

Suddenly someone holds out a hand in front of him. It’s Harry, of course it is, and Merlin beams at him. Harry had slipped out some time ago to try returning a call from Morgan, and Merlin really wants to ask what’s going on, but the way Harry smiles (and the promise to let him know if it’s anything urgent) makes him push those feelings away.

"May I have this dance?” Harry asks.

Merlin doesn’t allow himself to hesitate and takes Harry’s hand even though his heart races at the thought of the two of them dancing in front of people. He can’t stop his eyes from scanning the room -- it’s a learned behaviour and he’s not sure he’ll ever completely unlearn it -- and he can’t stop Harry from noticing it.

"I’ll let you lead,” whispers Harry as they get to the dance floor. “If it’ll help.”

"Fuck no,” Merlin whispers back. “I can’t dance and ye bloody know it.”

Harry laughs. He takes Merlin’s hand and puts his other on Merlin’s back. Merlin puts his own hand on Harry’s upper arm and follows the first few steps with great concentration.

"Relax,” Harry murmurs in his ear. ”It’s not weird, even if some are looking.”

Merlin meets his eyes, smiling, because he knows it’s supposed to be a joke but… “Please don’t say things like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.. just don’t let me step on yer toes, alright?”

Harry does a good job with that and Merlin tries to follow along as best as he can while Harry mouths the lyrics to the song. This is weird, no matter what Harry says, but Merlin realises that he… that he doesn’t care. Not really. Not right now. Not at one of his best friends’ wedding. Not when he’s dancing with Harry.

"Can I kiss ye?” Merlin suddenly asks.

Harry looks puzzled, but smiles and nods. "Always.”

So Merlin does. It’s a very chase, very soft brush of the lips against each other. It still fills his stomach with butterflies, because he can’t really believe this is real. The 18 year old who had left here, had never imagined coming back with a man in a kilt and kissing him on the dance floor.

As the song changes, Harry returns the kiss.

* * *

It’s early morning when they get back to their hotel room. They’ve had about five offers from people to stay in their guest rooms, but with the situation regarding the Gawain position as it is they had opted for a hotel so that Merlin won’t have to worry about being overheard. (If he’d manage to get in touch with HQ that is...) They had joked about how there are other perks with hotel beds compared to friends’ pull-outs, but now they both look at each other with tired, understanding smiles that nothing other than sleep is going to happen. 

“Bloody waste of ye in that, though,” says Merlin, giving him one last, good look-over as Harry takes off his jacket. “Because _damn_.”

“You can still undress me if you like.”

“Undress yerself, lazy bastard.”

Harry laughs. “Don’t worry, there’ll be other times.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm…” Harry finds two hangers, holding out a hand to take Merlin’s jacket as well. “I quite liked it.”

“When I thought I couldn’t love ye more…”

Harry chuckles. “You’re clearly drunk.”

“Aye, but in vino veritas and all that.” Merlin holds out his hand to him. “Can I have my pager back now, Hart?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but opens his sporran. Instead of the pager, however, he puts a small tube of lube in Merlin’s hand.

Merlin laughs. “Ye’re a terrible man, ye know that?”

Harry looks very innocent, but then retrieves the pager as well. Merlin takes his wrist as he hands it over and pulls him close to kiss him.

“I think ye’re a little drunk too,” he says when Harry giggles and rests his forehead against his. “Thank ye for today.”

“My pleasure.” 

“Can’t believe ye brought lube to a wedding, though.”

“Well, you brought me so…”

“Aye,” says Merlin quietly, smiling, giving him another kiss. “I did.”

And he will never accept a wedding invitation that doesn’t include Harry ever again, because they are, truly, family.


	7. 1991

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Harry said wearing a kilt felt a bit like doing drag. And of course Merlin wants to see him in drag! 
> 
> That's the main reason this happened on a lovely May evening 1991.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I can't put on make up... so... any errors, just... I'm sorry...)

Harry stands in front of the mirror in Linus’ bathroom, applying a foundation that he has signed out from Supply not even two months ago. The same goes for the concealer, blush and eyeliner in his toiletry bag -- not to mention the kohl that Amit is very impressed that he has. The blood red lipstick and the fake lashes he’s picked up on the way here, though.

“How’s it going?” asks Linus, carefully placing one of the two glasses of sparkling wine he’s carrying on the sink. 

“Oh, you know,” Harry says, without taking his eyes off his own reflection, “some shit even the army can’t beat out of you.”

Linus frowns and Harry knows it was a stupid thing to say, his time in the army is a sore subject among his friends for many reasons and is best not mentioned. At least it’s better than admitting that his current employer actually expects him to be able to change the shape of his face with the help of nothing but foundation and blush. As a way to smooth over his blunt comment, Harry takes the glass and raises it in a toast.

“May the night be fabulous.”

Linus smiles and raises his own glass. “And the boys willing.”

“How the fuck did we survive the 80’s?” 

“You went back into the closet and I was bloody lucky.”

Harry makes a half-pained sound. “Right…”

“Are you nervous? Is that why you’re trying to fit both feet in your mouth?”

“A little.”

“Well, then I forgive you.” Linus smiles and sits down on the closed toilet. He holds out his free hand to take Harry’s glass. He’s dressed already; make up all done, Lady Di wig and blue dress on… He looks stunning! 

When Harry had told his friends that he’d promised Merlin to show him drag for Eurovision it had received very positive reactions. The suggestion that they’d _all_ be in drag had not been as popular, but at least four of his friends are going to doll it up for tonight. Linus, obviously, is one of them. They had done this from time to time at uni, and even though Harry can’t remember how it had started, the feeling of freedom and flipping off Thatcher has stayed with him for all these years. And it has given him quite a few useful skills for the field.

“Is there any chance we get to see Hamish dressed up as well?” Linus asks with played innocence. 

“Depends on what you mean by ‘dressed up’,” says Harry, trying to find his concealer brush -- also courtesy of Kingsman. “He’s promised to wear his great kilt.”

Linus gaps. “Seriously? We’ll finally get to see him in all his Highlander Glory?” 

“Please don’t say that so he hears it,” says Harry, giving his friend a very stern look to remind him that under no circumstances is Merlin allowed to learn that Harry’s described him with those words once upon a time. Harry finds the brush and starts to apply the concealer before he adds, “But yes.”

“Stop smiling like that.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“Yes, you _are_. You’re like a proud peacock getting to finally show off your man properly.” 

Harry doesn’t reply. It’s not entirely untrue that he’s happy to have found a way to get Merlin to wear a kilt to meet his friends. When he’s done with the blush, however, he turns to Linus again.

“He doesn’t trust any of you, though, and he will wear pants.”

“Aw.” Linus pouts, but after having thought about for half a second he shrugs. “Fair.”

“Mhm,” says Harry with a knowing smile. “I need a refill.”

“Such a diva,” Linus mutters, but he leaves to refill both their glasses. 

Harry looks at himself in the mirror. He wonders what Kingsman would think if they knew what he’s doing with their make up tonight. Then again… it _is_ Merlin who’s asked him to do it, so it’s practically work.

Right?

* * *

It feels weird wearing the great kilt in London. Tonight is far from the first time Merlin does it -- the Unruly Clan has had meetings in the Imperial Capital after all -- but it’s a mental culture clash for him and he can’t shake the feeling that people are staring. 

This entire evening has the potential to be super strange. He’s never worn a kilt around Harry’s mates before -- because why would he? -- and on top of that, Harry’s already at Linus’ dressing up in drag. It’s his own fault, he knows that, and he doesn’t regret it one bit, but it’s weird. All of it.

He rings the bell and is buzzed inside without question when he gets to Linus’ building, but when he reaches the flat he has to patiently wait for three locks to be unlocked before the door is cracked open.

“Harry, it’s for you!” the person yells into the flat before shutting the door in Merlin’s face and unhooking the safety chain.

Merlin is taken aback when the door is finally opened by… Joseph. It has to be Joseph underneath the black wig and insane make-up. 

“Don’t look so scared,” says Joseph and laughs at his reaction, “or I won’t let you see Harry.”

“I’m not scared, I’m bloody impressed,” Merlin says, 100% truthfully, wondering how he can get his agents to be this good in altering their looks.

Joseph kisses his cheeks. “Why, thank you, darling. Now look at you in all your Highlander Glory! Damn.”

“Joseph, I swear to God!” yells Harry from the kitchen and steps into the hall. If Merlin was stunned by Joseph, then the sight of Harry blows him away. Not because he’s better than Joseph -- he isn’t -- but because it’s Harry. There are long lashes and red lips, silvery eye-shadow and so much foundation that it’ll probably crack before the night is over, a soft, brown wig, a stuffed bra, and a long black dress with a slit up to half his thigh. 

And as Harry walks towards them, Merlin can hear the distinct sound of high heels against the worn carpet.

Joseph laughs at Harry’s annoyance -- though Merlin isn’t quite sure why he’s annoyed -- as he locks the door again, and manages to slip away without more than a dark glare from Harry.

“See now why I’ve never made a skirt joke?” Harry murmurs when he reaches Merlin, lifting up his chin with a finger to kiss him. There is a fantastic thrill having to tip his head back to be able to kiss Harry, and feeling the long, fake nail scraping against the soft skin sends a tingle down Merlin’s spine. 

“I’m not sure equating what I wear with what you wear is any different from skirt jokes,” says Merlin, kissing him again and trailing his fingers down his sides. He breaks the kiss, laughing. “Are you wearing a girdle?”

“Yes.” Harry winks. “And now you’re wearing half my lipstick.”

“Really?” Merlin dries his mouth with the back of his hand. “You seem to have quite a lot of it left.”

“Stop making out by the door!” yells Linus. “Give your Highlander a glass of sparkling, Harry, he’s behind!”

“How much behind?” Merlin whispers as they make their way to the kitchen, but when he sees the number of empty bottles on the table he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Harry ignores the comment, getting a glass out of a cupboard with the same familiarity he does at home and then a fresh bottle from the fridge. As he opens the muselet, he glances over his shoulder to make sure they are alone.

“How were things when you left?” he asks quietly. 

Merlin has to swallow a giggle, because he knows the question is serious and comes from a place of worry and concern, but it’s crazy having Harry talk shop dressed as a woman at a drag themed Eurovision party. If the thought of mixing London and the kilt is hard, then this is impossible.

“We’re still short on pocket squares,” he says after taking an extra breath.

Harry nods, popping the cork. Lancelot, Harry’s mentor within Kingsman, has not been heard from for three days, having missed five check-ins. It’s not unusual for agents to disappear from the radar from time to time, but Merlin knows it eats at Harry. It bothers Merlin too, but he’s much more weathered. 

“Did I hear a cork pop?” asks Amit, floating into the kitchen and slipping an arm around Harry’s waist as he holds his glass up for a refill. 

Merlin’s chin drops to the floor when he sees him, because Amit looks like a Bollywood star in a red and yellow sari, with hands covered in henna. Harry seems completely unphased by it and takes the glass to make sure he doesn’t spill. 

“Thank you, darling,” says Amit, giving Harry a light peck on the cheek when he gets the glass back. Still with his arms around Harry he then looks at Merlin in what can only be described as awe. “Is it inappropriate to say that you’re drop-dead gorgeous, Hamish?”

“Yes,” says Harry.

Amit laughs. “It’s your fault for not showing him off in all his Highlander Glory before.”

“Go away.”

Amit winks at Merlin and obeys. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry mutters. “They are absolutely hopeless.”

“Stop it, you know I don’t mind,” Merlin says, adding with a grin, “anymore.”

Harry’s mates from uni had been absolutely exhausting for him the first year or so they’d known each other. They are, in lack of a better description, so very queer and Merlin’s at the time half-closeted self had had a hard time handling that. It’s better now, though there are still times he feels like an imposter and not gay enough. Not that they have ever implied anything of the sort. It is just a… feeling.

Harry starts filling the glass he’s taken out for Merlin. Merlin steps up close to him, reaching to move a string of long hair behind his ear. 

“Thomas is still at the shop in case the delivery shows up and I have my pager on,” he says quietly, trying to reassure him. “There’s nothing you can do for her, so try to enjoy tonight.” 

Harry hands him the glass with a smile that can probably fool anyone but Merlin that everything is fine. “You haven’t told me what you think about my look yet.”

“I’m very conflicted,” says Merlin with a smile. “This shouldn’t do anything for me, but it’s you… And you’re always the most attractive man in the room.”

Harry smiles and refills his own glass. “You don’t have to work so hard, I’m going home with you tonight anyway.”

“Good to know.” Merlin murmurs and kisses him. “Still true, though.”

From the other room they hear the unmistakable intro to the Eurovision Song Contest and at least three people yell at them to get their arses in here so they won’t miss it. Harry gives him one last kiss before taking him by the hand and dragging him to face three hours of audio and video torture.

* * *

It’s only just turned Sunday when they leave the party, but Merlin has three agents in the field -- one of them still unaccounted for -- and can’t be too hungover in the morning. It’s been a lovely night. Intense, as it always is with Harry’s mates, but lovely. Even after all these years, Merlin still isn’t quite used to all the casual touching among them. He’s not even used to being able to touch _Harry_ like that with other people around, though that might say more about him than about them. 

They are walking to the main road to be able to hail a cab. Harry is humming the Israeli song, which he has done since they left and doesn’t risk having to explain why he knows Hebrew anymore. He has given back the wig to Linus and changed into his suit again. The make-up is still on, though, as are the fake lashes and nails. As he said, neither a gentleman nor a lady barricades themself in the only bathroom at a party for as long as it takes to get all this shit off. It looks very strange, but there is something incredibly sexy about the tousled hair, red lips and somewhat smeared eyeshadow. Especially the tousled hair. Harry never has tousled hair for more than about two minutes after getting out of bed. Merlin wants to run his fingers through it, but for now he’s satisfied just holding his hand.

“Why did they keep referring to the kilt as my ‘Highlander Glory’?” asks Merlin when they’ve been walking for a bit. Harry chokes on the last chorus. 

Clearing his throat, he mutters, “Because they don’t value their lives very much.”

“Threats from a junior tailor aren’t quite as powerful as you might think -- and you know, glaring with those lashes doesn’t really have the impact you think either.” Merlin smiles at Harry’s expression and he nudges him a little. “Do _you_ perhaps call it that when I’m not around?”

“Not… anymore.”

Merlin laughs. “Sassenach.”

“We had just started dating,” Harry says, stumbling over his words in his haste to get them out. “I hadn’t even seen--”

Merlin stops and pulls him into a kiss, partly to shut him up, but mostly because he’s so sweet it’s quite frankly ridiculous when he thinks he's offended Merlin's Scottish heritage somehow.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs. “I don’t mind.”

“Good, because I don’t think they’ll ever stop now when they’ve seen it.” Harry gives him another quick kiss. “You’ve got lipstick on you again.”

Merlin laughs “It’s a bloody wonder you have any lipstick left at all.”

Harry runs his thumb over Merlin’s lip to wipe some of the lipstick away. “What did you really think about tonight?”

“Well, you know…” says Merlin with a smile. “Alice in Wonderland.”

That has become shorthand between them for overwhelming experiences Merlin never imagined having and that he can’t really put words to yet. He’s so happy to have them though, a peek into a world where words like ‘bravery’ and ‘courage’ (and ‘love’) mean something different than what they do where he comes from.

Harry smiles at his reply. London is far from perfect -- Merlin knows all too well why Linus has three locks on his door -- but tonight is pretty damn close, and Merlin realises that part of the reason he’s wearing his great kilt tonight is to take another small step to blending his two worlds together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel like it, [here is the entire ESC from 1991](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k38uy_g8gCU) that Merlin had to sit through. Fun fact, at this point all music is performed by a live orchestra. Let's bring that back, shall we?
> 
> [This is the song Harry's humming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yF4BDqbidrc) (and that he thought should have won). It finished second.
> 
> Swedish as I am: [this is the winning song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wnS4nu-bOc) I highly recommend you watch it for the background dancers. (Carola herself is a religious, homophobic bigot, but having competed in the ESC three times she has become a queer icon against her will, which I find both weird and somehow liberating.) I also didn't pick this year because Sweden won. It just happened.


	8. 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy is getting married and it'll be the first time Merlin puts on a kilt after losing his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware the time jump!

Merlin sits in his wheelchair in the bedroom of the suite at Drottningholm Palace that Eggsy and Tilde have put them up in. He’s put on one of his prostheses, but the other still just rests against the nearby wall. On the bed, Harry has laid out his kilt before heading off to do something stupidly official as Best man. 

In about forty minutes they are going to leave for the church, all of them, though Harry and Merlin are supposed to arrive about ten minutes before the bride and groom -- and Tilde’s parents. He and Harry are the first of the actual bridal party, so to speak. They have to leave in less than an hour and Merlin can’t put his other leg on.

And he can’t stop staring at the kilt.

He’s had the prostheses for about eight months now, can move with them almost as if they are his old legs. He’s almost accepted the help he sometimes needs. He’s almost comfortable with Harry touching his legs again -- he powers through, it’s months since he last recoiled at Harry’s touch.

The door opens and Harry comes in. He frowns, and with the observation skills of a one eyed spy he says, “You’re not dressed.”

Merlin can’t even reply. 

Harry crosses the room, giving both the kilt and the leg leaning against the wall a glance as he does. He crouches down in front of Merlin, taking the hand that rests upon his knee. It forces Merlin to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Tell me.”

“The kilt,” Merlin breathes out.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“My legs.”

Harry so clearly doesn’t get it. It’s fine, Merlin doesn’t either. He’s not ashamed of his legs. He’s not. They are his battle scars and he saved not just the world, but the people he loves the most. It’s worth the sacrifice of a couple of limbs.

Truly.

“Do you want me to help you put on the left one?” Harry asks.

Merlin shakes his head.

“Right. Okay, you don’t have to put your other leg on, but you _have_ to get dressed. We’re leaving in… 35 minutes.”

“I can’t.” Merlin shakes his head again. “Tell the lad I’m sorry, I really wanted to be there.”

Harry squeezes his hand. “Darling, don’t… Can’t we... I’m sure I can find you a pair of trousers if that’s--”

“No.”

“Please, _please_ come. You’re going to regret it if you don’t.”

“Harry. I can’t. I can’t put on the kilt with the prostheses.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucking can’t!”

Harry strokes his thumb up and down Merlin’s hand. 

“Without you stepping on that landmine, there probably wouldn’t be a wedding at all today,” he says when Merlin’s calmed down a bit. “You know that, right?”

Merlin nods.

“So if you need another hour or two, I’m going to go down to Eggsy and tell him that the wedding’s going to be a bit delayed.”

“If you tell the lad anything I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”

“So can I help you put on your leg?”

“No, just give me the bloody thing,” mutters Merlin, holding out his hand. “And don’t you dare for a second to look smug!” 

To Harry’s credit, he doesn’t. He just quietly hands Merlin what he needs to get ready, often without Merlin having to ask for it. The hose, the flashes, the shoes. He offers him a hand to get up and Merlin takes it because it’s there, not because he needs it.

And Harry, because he’s Harry, gives his hand a kiss before he lets go. Merlin wants to roll his eyes so badly, but doesn’t, because when Harry lets go he picks up the kilt and Merlin almost yells at him to put it down.

He doesn’t do that either.

He just takes the kilt, pushes down whatever feelings that threaten to break through, and manages the first strap without really thinking about it. Then he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and everything comes to a screeching halt. After a moment of Merlin just staring at his own reflection, Harry gently takes the front apron from him. He adjusts the kilt and buckles the strap on the right hand side, looking more at Merlin’s face than at what he’s doing.

“Quite the valet you’ve become,” Merlin mumbles as Harry goes to get the horsehair sporran. 

“After having got you out of this as many times as I have, one learns a thing or two,” says Harry matter-of-fact. “And I am supposed to be a tailor.”

“For _suits._ ” 

“Men’s wear.”

Now Merlin actually rolls his eyes, but he smiles when he lets Harry fasten the sporran behind his back. He can’t help brushing it a little, to make sure it hangs properly (he’d commend it yesterday) as Harry picks up the jacket and helps him on with it.

“What time is it?” Merlin asks when he fastens the belt around his waist. 

“We have about fifteen minutes?”

“Shite.”

Harry hands him the red sash, smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

As Merlin fastens the red sash under his left shoulder cord, Harry fastens the white cross belt under the right. Then, as if they have done this more than twice before, they manage to get the sash over the belt in the front and under the belt in the back, with the minimum amount of curses. Harry keeps correcting how it falls until Merlin slaps his hand away. 

“Right…” Harry murmurs. 

He opens the box containing Merlin’s medals and takes out the butterfly kilt pin. As Merlin starts to put on the medals, Harry goes down on his knees to fasten the pin. 

Merlin looks down at him with a smile. “No peeking.” 

“My brain isn’t so messed up that I can’t remember what I helped hide not even ten minutes ago,” says Harry, looking up. He’s about to say something else, but is interrupted by the door opening and Eggsy suddenly standing there.

Merlin stares. The lad looks so… so… There isn’t a word to describe him. He’s come a long way since the Lancelot try-outs.

“Hi, sorry, but…” Eggsy cuts himself off with a soft laugh at the scene. “So I just won a 100 fake-money from Tilde. And cheers, but you really don’t have time for that.”

“Respectfully, bugger off, your highness,” says Harry and gets off the floor.

Eggsy giggles and comes into the bedroom. He looks so happy, like his face is going to split in two from smiling, and something in Merlin’s chest loosens up. He lost his legs for that smile to be possible.

“Damn, you look smart, guv,” Eggsy says, giving Merlin a proper look-over. “Didn’t know you’re--”

“Scottish?”

“Knighted.” Eggsy tugs a little at the sash. “And all the bling!”

“I’m not, I’m… an officer of the Royal Regiment of Scotland.”

“Bloody Hell.”

Harry clears his throat. “Language, your highness.”

Eggsy laughs again. “Fuck off. But seriously, we need to go.”

“Two minutes?” asks Harry.

“Two minutes,” Eggsy says, nodding, and leaves them alone again. 

Merlin watches the door that he leaves ajar. Harry sneaks his hand into his. 

“Ready?” Harry asks.

Merlin turns to him and nods. “Aye.”

“I know it’s not really about that, but that disturbingly happy young man who just left is right. You do look fantastic.”

“I have a good valet.”

Harry gives him a kiss and a bright smile, he almost looks as happy as Eggsy. (And not even a little bit smug that he’s managed to get Merlin dressed.) It makes the last of Merlin’s doubts wither. He'd lost his legs for that smile as well, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've told a lot of you in the comments that the reason for this series is that I miss my friends during the pandemic and giving Merlin and Harry large groups of supportive, wonderful friends is a way to cope with that, but that's actually the happy by-product and what's kept the 'verse going. This fic is what actually sparked it all. I wanted to write a sort of canon compliant explanation for why Merlin (who obviously survived) wasn't at Eggsy's wedding -- that explanation obviously being him not being comfortable wearing the kilt with his prostheses. Clearly I failed at this ;P But I'm still happy with it, and I'm happy that so many of you seem to enjoy this story with me. It makes right now so much less lonely.
> 
> Thank you all! ❤


	9. 2014 / 2018 / 2019

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first (and second) time Harry asked Merlin to marry him it wasn't possible for them to do so. The next time it was a marriage in everything but name. Then, when it finally becomes an option to be married for real, well... Life has a tendency to get in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to canon reasons, this chapter goes against the idea I had to tell this story in short (somewhat random) slice of life moments, because these four parts needed to be told together. I hope you'll like it anyway!
> 
> Also, I know I said the next update would be back to the 80's... but the story I was planning to write and post turned out to be much harder than I first imagined. It will come though. At least kilts are worn in this one.

**2014**

It’s their anniversary. Sort of. It’s the first Saturday Harry is in London and Merlin doesn’t have to work after the anniversary of what they think is the date Harry gave Merlin the butterfly kilt pin. They have a lot of anniversaries and they try to find time to celebrate every one of them, since most of the time they don’t have time to celebrate them at all.

They have booked a table at one of their favourite restaurants. It’s nothing fancy, but they like it. Proper food and good beer, to a decent price. Harry gives the waitress their menus when he has ordered for them both. On the other side of the table, Merlin studies him closely.

Harry frowns suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s something.”

“No, I’m just waiting for you to propose to me again.”

Harry laughs. This is their first anniversary -- Hell, it’s the first time they’ve managed a dinner date -- since Parliament decided that same-sex marriage should be allowed, and going by his track record, Harry can see why Merlin would be suspicious. 

“Thought you said you wanted to do it at least once,” says Harry.

“Changed my mind.” Merlin shrugs. “It worked out so well the other nineteen times so…”

“Three times. And I could argue that the first time was you.”

“Hardly.”

Harry narrows his eyes, studying him. “So do you want to?”

“Do I want to what?”

“Idiot.”

Merlin smiles. After a while, as if he thinks it over, he says, “I actually think I do want it.”

“Then you can bloody ask me.”

From his pocket Merlin pulls out a small, rectangular box and holds it out to Harry. 

Harry takes it, grinning. “How upset would you have been if I’d actually asked you before you had the chance?”

“Not very -- as I said, it has worked out okay -- but then you wouldn’t have got the present until Christmas.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me properly?”

“Open the damn box, Hart.”

Harry does, his smile going tender when he sees the tie pin designed after the kilt pin he gave Merlin (kind of on this exact day) twenty-five years ago. He touches it gently.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“So, what do you say?” asks Merlin. “Want to sign some more papers?”

“Charming.” Harry winks, but leans in to kiss him. “Let’s do it. Let’s go and sign some more papers.”

“You’re going to cry this time too, aren’t you?”

“Just because our love doesn’t move _you_ to tears doesn’t mean everyone else is emotionally repressed.”

“You only want to do it to stick it to Thatcher.”

“Well, there are worse reasons to propose…”

Merlin laughs. “Have we done this too many times, you think?”

“No.” Harry takes Merlin’s hand, smiling as he shakes his head. “I’d marry you a hundred times if I could.”

“Let’s start with at least one more.” 

Harry nods. One more time is a good start.

**2018**

It’s been a fairytale wedding. It’s been a fairytale all together, really. The papers call it a reverse Cinderella story with the poor, young man marrying the princess. For all his doubts and sorrows, Merlin is so grateful that he made it there, that he got to see it.

Now it’s late -- or early -- and he and Harry are back in their rooms at the palace. They were some of the first to leave, partly because both of them find large groups of people like this draining, but mostly because Merlin’s not used to wearing his prosthetics for this long and there’s just so much a body can take.

He sits on the bed after having taken off both prosthetics, massaging his left stump as Harry comes out of the bathroom.

”You know, I realised we never got around to it.”

Merlin looks up. Harry’s wearing nothing but his pants and socks, holding his toothbrush as a wand. It looks ridiculous. 

“To what?” he asks.

“Converting our partnership to a marriage.”

“Aye,” Merlin mutters, going back to working on his leg. He had thought about that a lot during the time Harry was gone and doesn’t feel like diving into those thoughts at the night of Eggsy’s wedding. “Things got in the way.”

“So what do you say we get on that when we get home?”

Merlin swallows a sigh. He’s too tired for this, but he can’t leave the question open. He stops what he’s doing and looks at Harry again, who still stands there, technically naked, with a toothbrush in his hand, as if this marriage thing is something he wants to be crossed off a list.

“It’s not something to just ‘get on’ for me,” Merlin says. “Harry, I… I was a widower for two years. I’m not ready for the ‘until death do us part’ again.”

Harry is quiet for a long time before he mumbles, “I didn’t think of that.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to, so that we’re clear about that.” 

“Right. I’m sorry.”

“Christ, don’t be.” He reaches for Harry. “Come over here, I want to hug you.”

Harry sits down next to him on the bed and Merlin pulls him close, holds him tight. He’s still not completely over that he can do this again. Harry’s alive, and he’s here. 

“Having you back is _everything_ ,” he murmurs, before letting go. “I need a little more time, that’s all. If this is what happens when I propose, though, I’ll gladly leave it to you from now on.”

Harry smiles and gives him a light kiss. “Just tell me when.”

Merlin takes both his hands. Having him back really everything and he can’t remember how he made it through two years without him.

**2019**

Merlin isn’t actually surprised when Harry comes down to the tech lab, even if he hadn’t expected quite as fast a response as this. They are half-way through their second round of new recruits (the first batch produced three agents), the shop is barely up and running, they are still drowning in phone calls asking about how Prince Gary and Crown princess Tilde met even though the wedding was nine months ago, and they still don’t have a headquarter outside of London, so Merlin thought that perhaps Arthur had better things to do than to come here waving a post-it with the word “when” on it.

Then again… it’s been nine months. And it’s Harry. And yes, Merlin knew exactly what he did when he put that post-it on Harry’s laptop this morning.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” asks Harry, holding up the post-it.

“Depends on what you think it means.”

“We’re busy men, don’t be cute.”

Merlin smiles. “I’m ready.”

Harry’s entire being changes. Merlin can’t even put his finger on what it is, but it’s not just the smile and the small tilt of the head. Years seem to momentarily disappear from his features. 

“Good.” Harry smiles. “I suppose I have a booking to make then.”

“You’re not even going to ask me?”

“No, we’re well past that.”

“You could go down on one knee for once, you know.”

“You’ve had me on my knees more times than either of us can count.”

Merlin presses his lips together, trying very hard not to smile. “Go and make the damn booking, Hart, before I change my mind.”

Harry winks before leaving. Merlin watches him go and shakes his head. They really have done this too many times, but damn if it’s not worth it every time.

* * *

It’s only half-past four when Merlin gets home. Harry curses, but at least he’s mostly done. The table isn’t set, but the food is ready to go in the oven and he’s had time to change. And he was a spy once, so he knows how to deal with rapidly changing plans. Sort of.

“You’re early,” he says, only a little grumpy, when he goes to great Merlin who’s hanging up his jacket.

“Well, I thought that even if we’re ‘busy men’ we might celebrate at least a li--” Merlin turns around, holding up a bottle of champagne, but is interrupted by the sight of Harry. He looks surprised and amused. “And you’re in a kilt.”

“Mhm.” Harry gives him a kiss as he takes the bottle. “I thought we should celebrate a little too. Who knows, today might be our last engagement.”

“I really hope so.”

Harry laughs and gives him another kiss. “Since you’re early, you get to get your own whisky.”

“I’m being punished for wanting to spend time with my fiance?”

“Yes. Pour one for me too, I’ll be with you in a bit.”

Harry goes to the kitchen. He puts the champagne in the fridge and the dinner in the oven, setting a timer on his phone. There, now he’s almost back to the original plan again. Oh, screw it. He knows how it’s going to go anyway.

“Dinner in about 15 minutes,” he says when he comes to the sitting room. 

Merlin hands him a glass of whisky and gives his cheek a kiss. “What are you making?”

“Baked salmon.”

“The one with ginger and garlic?”

“Tomatoes and green beans, garlic doesn’t really go with what I had planned for after dinner.”

“Oh, you have plans?”

“Mhm.” 

Harry puts his glass down and takes Merlin’s hand instead. Then, with Merlin as support, he gets down on one knee.

Merlin smiles, shaking his head. “Harry… you don’t--”

“Oh, shut up. Let me do this, I’ve planned it since Eggsy’s wedding.”

Merlin shakes his head again, still smiling, and Harry’s heart clenches. How the fuck is he lucky enough to keep getting married to this man? 

He takes Merlin’s hand in both of his and says with a steady voice, “Will you go to therapy with me?”

Merlin frowns. “What?”

“You watched me get executed, I watched you get blown up, yet here we are. To quote Eggsy, that’s fucked up. I’ve talked to Ned and Alex -- I suspect you already know that -- so I know you didn’t talk to a professional when I was gone and I know that neither of us has talked to anyone after we came back from the States.”

“This is Eggsy’s idea, isn’t it?”

“One hundred percent,” Harry admits, “but he has a point. In order to get to the rest of our lives, maybe we do need to process what we’ve gone through and not ignore it. Let’s make this a new start.”

Merlin exhales and squeezes Harry’s hand. “Okay.”

“If you don’t want, I won’t force--”

“No, it’s fine. It’s good. It’s… Let’s.”

“Thank you.”

Merlin smiles. “Don’t you have something else to ask me, while you’re down there?”

Harry winks and lets go of his hand. He opens his sporran and retrieves Merlin’s old wedding band. He holds it up to Merlin.

“Will you marry me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but doesn’t wait for a proper answer before he puts the ring on Merlin’s finger. It’s strange how novel it feels, and he runs his thumb over the cool metal. Merlin puts two fingers under Harry’s chin and tilts his head backwards so he can kiss him. 

“Do you need help up, old man?” he murmurs against his lips. 

“I’m not old,” says Harry, but doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand as he gets up again. 

Merlin pulls him into his arms, kissing him as if they are just short of thirty and this is their first engagement and not short of sixty and having done this four thousands times already. Harry loses himself in the kiss, regretting that he put the salmon in the oven, because that means it has to stop at kissing for now.

And as on cue, his mobile starts to ring in the kitchen. 

Harry groans when he has to break the kiss. “Fuck.”

“I thought that was the plan for _after_ dinner since you didn’t use garlic…”

The look on Merlin’s face when he says that makes Harry laugh, and he steals a quick kiss, muttering that he should go take the fish out before it gets dry. Merlin follows him, but when Harry brings the food to the table, Merlin stands next to his chair, fiddling with his ring.

“Something wrong?” asks Harry as he puts down what he’s carrying. “Do we need to refit it?”

“No, it’s fine, I just…” Merlin pauses and looks up at Harry. “I just-- There was a time I didn’t think I’d ever be loved, let alone get married, and soon I’ll be the most married person I know.”

“Oh, darling,” Harry says, taking off the oven mitten and reaching to take Merlin’s hand. It breaks his heart when Merlin says things like that, it always has and it always will. And it makes him furious at the people who made him believe it. Thinking about that will ruin tonight, though, and he won’t have that. “You’re making my proposal sound really cheap now.”

“It wasn’t your best work.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to lower your expectations.” Harry shrugs. “I’m going to marry you as many times as they let me, which means I have to scale down on the proposals.”

“As long as you wear a kilt while you do it, it’s fine by me.” Merlin makes a point of looking Harry up and down. “Now, let’s eat. I want to get to the next thing you’ve planned for tonight.”

Harry grins, has no objection to that whatsoever… 

All the other things, they can -- and will -- deal with later. Tonight is for celebrating, because tomorrow is the first day of the rest of their lives.


End file.
